


Leftovers

by mimosa-supernova (FourCatProductions)



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bittersweet, Codependency, Complicated Relationships, Divorced Kent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, Older Man/Younger Man, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/mimosa-supernova
Summary: Left behind, lonely, and trying to cope, Kent and Sebastian gradually find solace in one another.
Relationships: Kent/Sebastian (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 39
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Leftovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WretchedArtifact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WretchedArtifact/gifts).



> Merry Chocolate Box, WretchedArtifact! Hope you enjoy.

The casserole was cave carrot and hazelnut, no mushrooms. It was almost definitely going to taste like shit, but Sebastian was weirdly pleased his mom was trying so hard—she’d left the mushrooms out for him this time.

“Eat,” he said, setting the plate on the table and plunking a glass of water next to it. That was all he ever said anymore, it felt like—you have to eat, you have to shower, you can’t sit at home alone in the dark all the time. Rich, maybe, coming from him, but they were things he had to say. They made him feel responsible. “You like hazelnuts, right?”

Kent grunted. He didn’t say much more than that lately, but Sebastian wasn’t interested in provoking him. _You don’t have to talk,_ he’d said when he first started coming by with his mom’s pity casseroles, ladling out hunks of kale-parsnip noodles. _You just have to put the food in your mouth._ He went back to the stove to cut himself a piece, flipping on the radio that sat in the windowsill. Static crackled out of the speakers, followed by cheerful big-band horns, courtesy of the local station. Not Sebastian’s kind of music, but it didn’t really matter what it was, as long as it filled the silence. The Pierces’ house had always been so _alive_ with voices and laughter, so noisy for only the three of them. But then Kent came back, and all that was gone now, close to half a year at this point—Sam and Vincent and Jodi, gone, leaving Kent to rattle around with only his ghosts and his memories for company. Sebastian still got a weird little swoop in his stomach whenever he let himself in with the key under the mat, the memory of an expectation— Sam, coming to open the door, snack in hand, talking with his mouth full; music blaring from Sam’s room, Jodi yelling at him to turn it down; Sam and Vincent, laughing in front of the TV together _._ A haunted house, even though no one was dead.

“I’d try to talk her into making something else,” he said, cutting a second slice, “but since you don’t need anything built, I think this makes her feel useful.” He glanced back at Kent. “You don’t need anything built, do you?”

Kent shook his head.

“Too bad. Guess you’re stuck with casserole, then.”

Empty words, and normally he’d feel stupid, chattering on with no substance behind anything he was saying, but it had started to feel important, talking like this. Like it didn’t matter what he said, as long as he kept showing up. He couldn’t get the image out of his head from when he’d shown up: Kent sitting on the couch in complete darkness, no lights, no TV, the silence with its fingers around his throat until Sebastian had flipped the light switch and chased it away.

That was all he was doing, he told himself as he watched his plate rotate in the microwave. Turning on the lights.

When it was done, he sat down with his own plate and glass, the legs of the chair scraping across the linoleum. Kent didn’t look at Sebastian. Just stared down at his dinner, fork limp in his big fist.

“You don’t need to do this,” he said.

Sebastian dug his own fork into the corner of his casserole. “Someone has to.”

“I’m—”

His voice broke off, jaw working, and Sebastian imagined what he might be trying to say: _I’ve known you half your life, you’re too young to be the one taking care of me,_ or maybe _I’m not helpless, you don’t need to treat me like I’ll break, get out of my house._ It was always the first, but he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He took a bite, washed it down with a gulp of water. Definitely not his mom’s best attempt at casserole.

“You don’t need to do this,” Kent repeated, the light still burnt out in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Sebastian said, and looked down at his plate before Kent saw him staring. “I really do.”

There wasn’t much to say after that, so they ate in silence, the radio still blaring from its perch in the window. Afterwards, Sebastian scrubbed their dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then rewrapped the casserole dish and stuck it in the fridge. Kent didn’t move from his seat at the table. He barely made eye contact when Sebastian came back to stand in front of him, hands in his pockets.

“You want to watch TV or something? I can put on a movie.”

Kent nodded after a long moment, a heavy jerk of his head. They migrated to the couch. Sebastian used to pretend at first, sit on the opposite end from Kent, but he got tired of lying to himself after a while. Kent’s side was warm, and solid, his arm hovering on the back of the couch. It hesitated before settling around Sebastian’s shoulder in degrees. He did that sometimes, like he was trying to talk himself out of it and losing. Sebastian couldn’t find it in himself to be offended. He tried to talk himself out of it too, sometimes. He picked up the remote.

“Bad movie? Good movie?” When no answer was forthcoming, he clarified. “Do you want to pay attention, or do you want to be distracted?”

“Distracted,” Kent said, and turned his head a little, nose skimming Sebastian’s hair.

“Bad movie, then,” Sebastian said, and turned on the TV. Kent’s cheek brushed his hair again, more deliberately this time. It sent a tingle through his scalp, all the way down to his toes.

*****

Sam left eight months ago.

“I can’t let Vince grow up without a brother, too,” he’d said, the last time they talked before he left, and the guilt in his eyes had been so raw that it shut Sebastian up altogether. “He needs me, man. And my mom… she’s got that new job, but she’s gonna need help getting settled in, and Morris already said I could transfer to the Joja in Litalo, so…”

It hadn’t felt real until just that moment, and then it was; Sam was leaving and he hadn’t even said anything until he’d already started packing. Sebastian thought, for a brief and horrifying moment, that he might be sick all over the rug. The worst part is, he couldn’t even be mad. Sam was the one whose parents were getting divorced. They were adults now, in their twenties, but it felt like he was twelve all over again when he saw the moving van parked in their driveway. He could barely say goodbye that last day, his throat tight with misery. Abigail cried, later, when it was just the two of them sitting by the lake. Sebastian didn’t cry at all. It felt like it was happening to someone else.

A week later, his mom invited Kent to dinner.

“Do _not_ say anything about the divorce,” she warned, brandishing the potato peeler as Sebastian ducked under her arm to get to the fridge. “Unless he brings it up first.”

“ _Is_ he going to bring it up?” Demetrius asked, alarmed.

“Dad!” Maru hissed.

“What? I’d like to know beforehand, so I can prepare an adequate response.”

“You can’t make that face if he does. You know that, right?”

They kept talking, but Sebastian tuned them out, popping the tab on his sparkling water. Normally watching his mom and Maru gang up on his stepdad would have been entertaining, but right then, he understood exactly how Demetrius felt. It wasn’t just the divorce. It was the idea of Kent Pierce’s vulnerability on display in their dining room. There was something grotesque about it, like the crabs in the mines when their shells got knocked off, soft and fleshy and pitiful. An awful thing to think, but he didn’t know what else to do with the squirmy, nauseous feeling in his gut. Kent had seemed invincible, untouchable when Sebastian was growing up; everywhere, always laughing, always golden in the sun. But he was no longer a teenager, and Kent was no longer the same man he was before the war. If he brought it up, or Yoba forbid, _cried_ , Sebastian was going to lose it right there at the table.

Dinner was fiddlehead risotto and roasted potatoes with mushrooms on the side. The risotto was lumpy, but no one said anything. Kent didn’t bring it up.

“There’s blueberry cobbler for dessert,” Robin said brightly as she cleared their plates. “Caroline made some today and brought the extra by. Nice of her, wasn’t it?”

“Brought me one, too.” Kent’s expression was unreadable. “She always was a good baker.”

“I’ll make coffee,” Maru said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Nice of you all to invite me over, too,” Kent said, when the silence stretched on a little too long after. “Appreciate the meal.”

“You’re always welcome here, Kent.” Demetrius, trying too hard again, but Sebastian wasn’t sure he had room to talk. He hadn’t said a word for the last hour. “We hope you know that.”

Kent cleared his throat. “Well, you know I’ve never been much of a cook.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I almost always burn something. Jodi was the one who—”

His mouth snapped shut, unfinished sentence hanging midair. The silence in its wake was excruciating.

“I’ll go get that cobbler,” Robin said, just as Demetrius said, “So I’ve been studying pufferfish toxins this summer,” and Sebastian stood up so fast he almost banged his knee on the table, shoving his chair back.

“Sebastian?” his mom said, and he couldn’t, he couldn’t—

“I’m gonna step out for some air,” he blurted, and fled through the side door.

He wanted to take his bike out of the garage and ride it straight out of town, but guilty obligation kept him tethered to the backyard, smoking a cigarette and darting glances at the patio. Nobody came to get him by the time he finished the first, so he started in on the second. It was the last one. Might as well kill the pack.

The hinges on the door creaked, screen banging shut.

“You have another one of those?”

Sebastian blinked up at Kent, cigarette tucked between his fingers.

“You smoke?”

“Bad habit,” Kent said. He didn’t elaborate further.

Sebastian pulled the crumpled packet out and showed it to him. “Sorry. Last one.” Weirdly, Kent’s shrug made him feel guiltier than anything else that had happened so far. “I would have saved one if I’d known.”

“It’s fine.” Kent’s smile was more like a grimace. “Shouldn’t be bumming cigarettes off the neighbor’s kid, anyway.”

Something about the way he said it rankled— _the neighbor’s kid_ , like Sebastian hadn’t been his son’s best friend for over a decade—but his eyes were so lost that anything Sebastian might have said in response was swamped by a wave of nameless emotion.

“Here,” he said on impulse, holding on the cigarette. “You can finish it.” Too late, he realized that it was a weird fucking thing to do, offering someone else a cigarette that had already been in his mouth, but now Kent was looking at him and he couldn’t back down without seeming like even more of a weirdo, so he shrugged and tried to look like he didn’t care. “You look like you need it more than I do.”

Kent took it after a moment’s pause, staring at the filter before he put it between his lips. His eyes slid shut as he inhaled, head tilting back just a little. The grooves in his forehead relaxed a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling—the expression of a man getting his fix for the first time in a while. A long exhale, smoke dissipating on the breeze in long grey ribbons, and then he put it back in his mouth, letting it dangle from his lower lip.

“Thanks,” he said. It sounded like he meant it.

Sebastian was having trouble not staring. There was no reason for him to be staring, he knew, but it felt obscene, somehow. Not because Kent was doing anything wrong, but because he was becoming acutely aware that he couldn’t _not_ think about Kent’s mouth being where his had been. With some effort, he forced his gaze in the other direction.

“No problem.”

It would have been weird to sit there and watch him smoke, so he went back inside, through the kitchen. Demetrius was washing the dishes while his mom dried, half a blueberry cobbler still sitting on the stove. He glanced over when Sebastian shut the door, kicking off his shoes.

“Is Kent still out there?”

Sebastian nodded and went to help himself to some cobbler. His mom flicked the towel at him as he passed, wrinkling her nose.

“You smell like an ashtray,” she said.

*****

Nobody had used the pool table in months. Sebastian and Abigail had played a couple half-hearted games just after Sam left, bored and drunk, but it just wasn’t the same, and nobody else in town seemed interested, either. Now Fridays were the two of them playing Junimo Kart and drinking so they didn’t have to talk about the things neither of them wanted to talk about. Sometimes Shane would play, too, also in silence, or Emily would come chat on her breaks, and other times Elliott would sweep through and rope the two of them into sharing a round with him and Leah and Marnie. It felt like pity, but neither of them had the heart to reject it. Besides, it was nothing compared to the way everyone handled Kent. Like he’d shatter to pieces if he was left alone too long.

(Sebastian didn’t, because he hated being treated that way as much as Kent did, but he understood why they did. It was hard to watch a man flounder in the wreck of his own life.)

Most nights, Kent tolerated it. Others, he drank.

“I can walk,” he’d snapped when Willy reached out to steady him, clutching at the edge of a nearby table for balance. Even from the game room, Sebastian could tell he was swaying on his feet. He and Abigail exchanged uneasy looks. “My house is half a block from—I can _walk_.”

Everyone was looking. They weren’t looking at him, but Sebastian could feel their eyes all the same, the way the saloon had gone quiet except for the faint crackling of the jukebox. The embarrassment was palpable. How could Kent stand it? How could anyone? He downed the rest of his beer.

“Alright, Kent,” Gus said gently from behind the bar, setting down the glass he’d been polishing. It cut the silence with a heavy _thunk_. “Alright.”

Kent seemed to feel it then, the weight of all those gazes and the thoughts they held, because his broad face flushed, shoulders slumping. He made his way to the door, steps deliberate. Trying not to stumble as he braced himself against the door handle. He said something, but Sebastian was too far away to make it out. Gus seemed to deflate in response, Willy looking away with a little shake of his head, and then a rush of cool summer air filled the room as the door opened and Kent went storming off into the night.

“Shit,” Abigail said, flashing lights from the screen washing neon over her pale face. “You think he’s gonna be okay?”

_I don’t know,_ Sebastian had almost said, and it was the fact that he didn’t know that drove him to slap some money on the counter and follow Kent out into the street, shoes slapping on the wet cobblestone. It had rained earlier. What if Kent _was_ too drunk to walk by himself, and he slipped and fell and cracked his head open or broke his neck or something? What if he couldn’t reach him in time?

Thankfully, Kent hadn’t made it far. The lampposts illuminated a solemn figure further down the lane, weaving with each step, head bowed. Sebastian broke out into an awkward half-jog, skidding a little on the slick stone as he hurried to catch up.

“Hey, are you… are you good? To be…”

“To be what?” There was just the hint of a slur in Kent’s voice, the tail end of his words blending together. More than a few beers deep tonight, then. “Walking?”

“By yourself.”

Kent didn’t answer. They turned the corner together, heading for the house.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally.

It stung, even though Sebastian had half-expected it. It wasn’t the first time.

“Why not?”

“You know why.” The words were heavy with contempt, but Sebastian didn’t know which one of them it was for. “Told you before, we can’t keep doing this."

“Yeah, and looked how that turned out.” Sebastian kept half a step behind him, just in case he stumbled again, but so far he was doing alright. Maybe the walk was sobering him up. “It’s kind of pointless to lie about it now, you know?”

“Can barely look your parents in the face,” Kent mumbled, more to himself than anything.

Irritation prickled hot down Sebastian’s spine, but he bit his tongue until they made it inside the house, flipping on the lights in the entryway and shrugging off their jackets. They couldn’t afford to be caught arguing in front of the neighbors—not this late at night, not about this. He reached out and touched Kent’s wrist, halting him as he started to take off his shoes.

“What my parents think? Doesn’t matter. I’m fine keeping it just between us for… a number of reasons I don’t want to get into right now, but that doesn’t mean you need to, I don’t fucking know, _atone_ or feel guilty for sleeping with me or whatever it is you're trying to do here.”

“Sebastian,” Kent said, and it came out like a groan, oddly vulnerable in the confines of the narrow entryway.

“I’m an adult. We’re both adults. And yeah, okay, there are some complicating factors—”

“Complicating factors,” Kent repeated bitterly. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The rest of Sebastian’s words shriveled and died on his tongue, frustration blooming in their place.

“They left,” he said, too loud for as close as they were standing. “Okay? They _left_ us.”

It wasn’t going to fix anything. He’d known that before he said it, but the words struggled at the back of his throat until he set them free anyway. Kent pulled his hand away. Sebastian didn’t stop him.

“Go home,” he said.

“You don’t have to get drunk if you need space,” Sebastian said. “You can just tell me.”

Kent turned away, finished taking off his shoes. He didn’t look back when he straightened up again.

“I said go home, Sebastian.”

*****

“Sebastian?”

It was dark, the porch light a midnight sun in his peripheral. He squinted, shading his eyes with a wobbly hand. A figure materialized, swimming half in shadow. Features came into focus, one piece at a time: eyes, jaw, tight mouth, blond hair mussed with sleep. Tall. Sam.

“Sam?”

There was a pause.

“No,” the man said, and Sebastian’s gut started churning and he had to lean hard against the side of the house, squinting up into the light. “No, Sam’s not here.”

That was right, he remembered dimly. Sam wasn’t there anymore. It was just Kent. Kent, all alone in a house too big for one.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “Thought you were him.”

Kent didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Can you get home like that?”

“’m fine. I just…”

He trailed off. He didn’t know what he _just._ When he looked up again, Kent’s expression had softened a fraction.

“Come inside,” he said. “You can sleep it off on the couch.”

Home was a long, cold walk away and Sebastian had slept on the Pierces’ couch so many times that he could feel it perfectly, soft and worn by the passage of bodies and time. He’d practically lived on it in high school.

“Just miss him,” he mumbled.

Kent took a step back from the doorway, the soft dark interior of the house reaching out with welcoming arms as Sebastian limped inside.

“I do too,” he said.

*****

They didn’t see each other again for a week.

 _I said go home, Sebastian._ The words looped in his head until they became meaningless, and eventually his anger cooled into nothing. Their relationship would have been unimaginable a year ago, outside of his fumbling, guilty teenage fantasies. They were navigating without a map. And it was a relationship now, even if he didn’t like thinking about it that way— _relationship_ was an ocean of a word with frightening, unknown things lurking in its depths—but ultimately it didn’t matter what they called it. He just knew he wasn’t ready to give it up yet.

He went to the house the following Tuesday, while his mom and the rest of the town gossips were busy with Caroline’s aerobics class. There was no answer when he knocked, so he let himself in with the key under the mat.

Kent wasn’t inside. He was out in the backyard, standing by the rusted swing set under the maple tree. Nobody really used it, but they never got around to tossing it out, either. It had come with the house. Sebastian knew better than to come up behind him without warning, so he stood in the open doorway and just watched for a minute. Kent was familiar, but the context wasn’t. It was new and a little overwhelming, looking at him this way. To look at him, his shoulders and back and bowed blond head with the sun filtering through the leaves, and know that he had touched every one of those places, kissed that back and those shoulders and run his hands through that hair, and the memories made his face burn. Even now, it didn’t feel real. Everything else aside, men who looked like Kent didn’t go for guys like Sebastian; there wasn’t exactly a demand for scrawny programmer nerds who still couldn’t quite shake the insecurity left over from high school and kept forgetting to take their anxiety meds.

“Hey,” he called out, and instantly felt guilty as Kent’s shoulders flinched up around his ears. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Kent didn’t say anything, just turned back to the swing set, but he didn’t tell Sebastian to go, either. Sebastian shut the screen door and came to stand next to him, wading through the knee-high grass. It was warm out, but not unbearably so, birds chattering and singing in the nearby trees. The fence was plenty high, shielding them from the rest of town, but he still felt exposed, standing there in the light with their arms almost touching.

“Sorry,” he said again. “For the other night. I was just worried.”

“I know,” Kent said. He didn’t sound angry, at least. More resigned than anything. Sebastian got that. When you were low, it got hard not to resent people for caring about you sometimes, to not fight them when they insisted on seeing the good in you.

“I don’t want to be one of the reasons you drink.” It was a weird, uncomfortable thing to say, but he needed Kent to hear it more than he wanted to avoid saying it. “I want—”

He wanted eight months ago to not have happened. He wanted to see Kent smile, the way he did sometimes when they were alone. Wanted, impossibly, to be good to him, _for_ him, even if they could never tell anyone or show affection in public, until he got to a place where he could be good for himself again. It had been a terrible idea for them to hook up and an even worse one to keep it going, and it didn’t matter because he wanted it anyway. But he said none of those things, because Kent was already shaking his head, fierce as he turned to face him.

“I’m not drinking because of you,” he said, and there was a shadow of the old Kent in his face, the quiet intensity of his voice—he tried not to raise it these days, but he’d never really had to. When he spoke, everyone listened. “Don’t ever think that. Are we clear? Never.”

Sebastian nodded, chewing on his lower lip. It probably should have turned him off, or pissed him off, the way Kent was talking, but it made something in his chest shivery and warm, a little too close to anticipation. Not that they were about to rip each other’s clothes off, but something about that commanding response made him want to. Yoba, he really was screwed up.

Physical affection didn’t come easily to Kent. Sebastian had known that from the start, and he didn’t mind. He wasn’t very good at it, either. But even though they were outside, he didn’t hesitate before reaching out, and Sebastian’s world narrowed to the shape and size of the hand cupping the back of his neck.

“All of this… you’re the one good thing,” Kent said, and his grip tightened, just a little. “Okay?”

Sebastian’s heart was beating so hard he could barely make out the words. His fingers curled around Kent’s forearm and hung on for dear life.

“The one good thing,” Kent repeated.

Pelican Town lay still, lazy in the long shadow of the afternoon. Sebastian bit his wrist to keep quiet while Kent blew him, his back pressed up against the old maple tree. His other hand rested on Kent’s head, fingers threaded through his hair. Even with the fence to hide them, it still felt illicit. Dangerous. The possibility of being seen ran hot fingers down his spine, made him shudder and throb. One of Kent’s big hands cradled his hip, the other palming his bare ass. His thumb pressed into the ridge of Sebastian’s hipbone, stroking gently.

It was almost too much, being touched like that. Like him feeling good was the only thing that mattered. Sebastian tipped his head back, covering his mouth. Insects droned from the tall, tall grass. His breath came out fast, ragged around his hand as Kent swallowed him whole.

*****

“I can’t believe you went to that poor man’s house like that.”

“That’s like the fifth time you’ve said that this morning,” Sebastian said, slumped face-down at the kitchen table. “Will you please just let it go already?”

“You know what a hard time he’s having right now!” his mom snapped, reaching for the coffee pot. “You’re lucky he let you sleep it off on his couch, mister.”

He groaned, turning his face away. His stomach hurt.

It wasn’t like his mom didn’t have a point, but she didn’t need to keep rubbing it in. He felt bad enough already. Showing up in the middle of the night, drunk as hell, talking about Sam—it was the last thing Kent needed. He barely remembered anything after he left the bar, just blurry pictures here and there like underdeveloped film. All he could hope was that he hadn’t said anything too awful or incriminating. He rode his bike into town that afternoon, one of her casserole pans in the bag strapped to his handlebars.

“Hey,” he said when the door opened, stomach churning, and was pleasantly surprised that Kent didn’t immediately slam it in his face. Maybe he hadn’t said anything irreparably damning.

“Sebastian,” Kent said. He sounded a little surprised himself, eyes darting between the bag and the bike. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah,” he said, ears burning, and coughed. “I… yeah. Sorry about that.”

Kent waved him off. “Worst thing you did was snore on my couch.” A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Have to say, surprised to see you up and around after a night like that.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Coffee and painkillers.”

“Nice to be young sometimes,” Kent said. He nodded at the bag in Sebastian’s hand. “What’s that?”

“Mom made you a casserole.” He wiggled the straps. “Kale, I think.”

Kent winced. “Good woman, your mom,” he said gamely. “It’s nice of her to keep feeding me.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that. You’ll be eating mushroom stroganoff for weeks.”

“Hopefully it can wait,” Kent said, taking the bag from him. “I’ll be trying to get through this for a week by myself.”

It probably wasn’t an invitation, Sebastian’s gut told him, still knotted with anxiety. He couldn’t keep invading Kent’s life just because he missed his best friend. But even as he thought it, he found himself poking at the old welcome mat with the toe of his shoe, reluctant to leave. Kent held his gaze for a moment, lingering in the doorway. His blue eyes were heavy-lidded, crow’s feet pronounced, with purple half-moons underneath, skin surprisingly delicate. Almost bruised. He needed a shave and a shower and the urge gripped Sebastian, strong as it was sudden, to tell him to go lie down and take a nap while he did the dishes, maybe cleaned up around the place a little. _Something._ It was an urge he’d never felt in relation to his own share of the housework, and more than a little discomfiting. He wanted to help, but this felt like something bigger. Thornier. He didn’t want to risk glimpsing the roots if he tried to untangle the branches. He shoved his hands in his pockets instead.

“I could stay,” he said. “If you wanted company.”

“Might not hurt,” Kent allowed after a moment.

It was strange, Sebastian thought as they ate, poking at lumps of squashed kale. He couldn’t remember if he and Kent had ever had a one-on-one conversation when he was growing up, aside from the awkward _how’re you, how’s your family, how’s school_ interrogations you had with all your friends’ parents. He’d been Sam’s Dad, Military Hero, gone more often than he wasn’t. More idea than man after a certain point. But now he was just Kent, tired and sad and very much human, and Sebastian kept finding himself back at the house. He didn’t want to think about why. He choked down another bite.

When they were finished, Sebastian did the dishes, because it seemed like the right thing to do and the tired smile Kent gave him when he insisted made him feel stupidly warm. He still wasn’t going to think about why, but there was a little glow of pride in his chest as he finished drying and putting everything away.

“Kitchen’s clean, more or less,” he said, poking his head into the living room as he toweled his hands off. “Just give me a minute and I’ll head out.”

Kent was sitting on the couch, staring at the blank television screen. At Sebastian’s voice, he glanced up.

“Hm?” Pause. “Sorry. Stuck in my thoughts.”

“Oh, I was just saying that I’d get ready to go.” Sebastian shrugged, forced a smile. “I kinda figured I’d taken up enough of your time recently.”

“Right,” Kent said, after another, longer pause. “Don’t let me keep you.”

There was an awful silence as Sebastian realized two things. The first was that Kent was probably lonely. The second was that he didn’t want to leave, not really. What was there waiting for him at home?

“You know, there’s this new documentary about frogs that just started streaming,” he said. “I was gonna watch it at my place, but… I could do that here instead. If you were interested.”

Kent considered.

“Frogs, huh?”

Sebastian nodded.

“Frogs are alright.”

They watched the documentary with the lights off, Sebastian sprawled on the couch and Kent in his recliner. The sun sank slowly past the window until it was out of view, orange skies and black mountains rising in its place. Sebastian was exhausted, mostly from his hungover trek home at 5 AM, and the narrator’s voice had a soothing cadence. He needed to keep his eyes open, he told himself, voiceover talking about the Gotoro rainforests in the background. It would be rude to fall asleep, especially since he was the one who put on a documentary. Then he blinked and it was pitch-black outside, living room quiet and still. The television was off, and there was a blanket draped over his legs. He grunted, head falling back against the armrest.

_Shit._

He’d passed out. Again. He stared at nothing, ceiling arched high and dark overhead. At least this time he hadn’t been drunk. That had to count for something.

Briefly, he thought about going back to sleep, but his bladder protested, and so he hauled himself up from the couch with a grunt and stumbled down the hall, feeling for the bathroom door. When he came back out, the light in the kitchen was on.

Kent stood at the sink, pouring himself a glass of water. He wore a pair of flannel pajama pants and nothing else, the muscled planes of his back on stark display. Sebastian had seen him shirtless plenty of times before—at the beach, the spa, mowing the lawn—but not like this. This felt like something he wasn’t meant to see. He swallowed, throat scratchy. Kent must have heard him, because he turned around just a little too fast, glass clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

“Just came to get some water,” Sebastian said weakly.

Kent nodded and moved so he could get to the cabinet, and he filled his own glass, trying not to stare out of the corner of his eye. Kent’s throat bobbed as he gulped his water down, free hand braced against the counter. He’d gotten softer since being discharged, his belly starting to hang over his waistband, but it suited him—he’d been gaunt when he first returned home, eyes dead and cheeks hollow. He looked much healthier now, and Sebastian was having a harder time than anticipated not staring. His gaze kept sticking to Kent’s broad shoulders and chest. He turned away while he drank, squeezing his eyes shut. His throat still felt dry when he was done.

“Sorry,” he croaked.

“Sorry for what?”

“That’s two days in a row I’ve passed out on your couch.”

“It’s fine,” Kent said. His voice was gravelly with sleep. “I called your mom, let her know.”

“Oh,” Sebastian said, surprised. “Thanks.”

Kent shook his head. “Didn’t want her worrying about you.”

“You could have woken me up.”

“Looked like you needed the rest.”

Sebastian couldn’t disagree. He set his glass in the sink, steeling himself as he turned back around. Kent’s glass was empty too, still clutched in his fist. Sebastian held out his hand. Wordlessly, Kent handed it over, and Sebastian set it in the sink, next to his.

“Why are you up, anyway?” he asked, and yawned. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah,” Kent said gruffly, looking away. “Don’t get much these days.”

“That sucks,” Sebastian said, because he was half-asleep and couldn’t think of anything better, and Kent made a noise that was almost a laugh.

“Guess so.”

That was the natural end of the conversation, and he knew he ought to just let it go. Find his way back to the living room and leave Kent to chase after sleep again. It was the smart thing to do. The _right_ thing to do. Instead, he took a couple steps forward, tile cool under his feet. Then a couple more, until he was close enough to put a hand on Kent’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin spread through Sebastian’s palm, tingling all the way to the tips of his fingers and down his wrist.

He didn’t know what to say. Barely understood what he was even doing, touching Kent like that. It wasn’t his business. Wasn’t his place to ask if Kent had talked to Harvey about any of it, or if he had someone else. A psychiatrist, maybe, or a doctor up in the city. Despite that, he wanted to know, and that was the terrifying part, the wanting; the persistent, aching urge to get closer. He’d fall asleep on the couch every night if Kent let him.

Kent’s hand folded over his, big scarred fingers enveloping his palm. Sebastian realized he still hadn’t said anything. He was touching Kent, alone in the kitchen in the middle of the night, and neither of them was saying anything, their eyes locked. For a moment, even the hum of fridge and the creaking of the pipes ceased, like the house itself was holding its breath around them. Kent’s grip was firm as he gently removed Sebastian’s hand, and then it was gone, leaving his hand to fall limply at his side.

“Try to get some more sleep,” he said. “It’s late.”

“Right,” Sebastian said numbly, watching him trudge past and out of the room. It was all he could do not to be sick on the kitchen floor. “Good night,” he called, too late, and got no answer in response. Just the soft, metallic click of a door being shut.

He turned off the light and went to lay back down on the couch, but he was wide awake now. Every time he closed his eyes, the moment looped on the back of his lids, unceasing. He was half-surprised Kent hadn’t shoved him away or threatened to knock his lights out, and beneath that surprise, a dangerous half-hope threatened to take root. Was it wrong, to wonder if there had been more to that moment than the shared pain of being left behind? He couldn’t name it, but he felt it with a certainty than unnerved him. It was arrogant. Arrogant and stupid and unbelievably foolish to even _think_ that Kent might—

Kent might—

 _Fuck_. He let his head fall back against the cushion. Maybe he’d get lucky, and whatever hungover, sleep-induced insanity this was would be gone by morning.

There was a distant click, followed by the muffled protest of hinges. A door opening. Sebastian scrambled upright, blanket falling to the floor.

Kent looked younger in the darkness of the hallway, drawn into himself. Moonlight slipped through the blinds, illuminating slivers of his face. An uncertain eye, chin jutted, lips tight. Sebastian could practically feel the tension radiating off of him.

“You should go,” he said. Half-plea, half-warning.

“Do you want me to?”

Kent didn’t answer. Sebastian took a gamble, stepped a little closer. Stripes of silver and shadow made his expression unreadable, alien, but there was no mistaking the shiver that ran through him. They were close enough that Sebastian had to tilt his head back a little to make eye contact, their breath mingling.

“Why did you come back out here, Kent?”

A simple question, asked in his softest voice, but Kent flinched like he’d been struck. “I…”

“It’s okay,” Sebastian said. He’d decided this was a dream. It had to be. There was no way this was real, and at least in dreams, you could say and do whatever you wanted. “You don’t have to answer.” He was pretty sure he already knew why. It was his dream, after all. He took another half-step forward, close enough now to feel the solid heat of Kent’s body. It would have been so easy to hook his fingers in the waistband of Kent’s pants, to press their hips together. To turn his face up for a kiss.

“I’ll go,” he said. “If you tell me to.”

Kent’s answering embrace crushed him against the wall.

Sebastian had never been kissed like that in his life. Rough, demanding, so desperate he could feel it all the way down to his toes. It set all the fine hairs on the back of his neck to prickling, and the memory of Kent smoking his half-finished cigarette flashed into his mind without warning. It had seemed like crossing a line even then, and now he had Kent’s tongue in his mouth. He should have felt guilty; it made him shudder instead, fingers digging into Kent’s hips.

They didn’t go to the bedroom. They barely made it to the couch. Kent sprawled more than sat, Sebastian kneeling between his legs. He didn’t have much experience with this kind of thing, but he was pretty sure Kent didn’t either, and that made him feel better. Less anxious. Still, all of his fantasies about sucking dick had been just that—hazy, inconsistent fantasies. Kneeling there in the dark, listening to the tick of the grandfather clock in the hall, feet sweaty in his socks, it all felt very real all of a sudden. Kent fumbled with the waistband of his pajama pants, and then his cock was in his fist, less than an inch from Sebastian’s face. When he let go of it, it curved, rigid, towards his belly. His breathing was uneven, hands clenched at his sides, but he didn’t move. Like he was waiting to see if Sebastian still wanted it.

Sebastian wanted it. His hands were sweaty and his stomach was in knots and he wanted it so much that the wanting felt almost too big for his body, threatening to overflow. When he wrapped his fingers around the base, it throbbed in his hand, and Kent let out a choked-off noise that could have been a moan. His skin was warm, the hard muscle of his thigh tense against Sebastian’s side. His head lolled to the side as Sebastian’s lips and tongue found him, tentative at first, then bolder.

It wasn’t like he was a virgin. He’d just never really done anything with a guy before. But he knew how he liked to be touched and he desperately wanted to make Kent feel good, and that seemed like a decent place to start. Long, firm strokes while he licked the tip, getting used to the weight of it on his tongue, until he was confident enough to move a little faster, take a little more; there was something hypnotic about the way Kent’s breathing changed according to his movements, exhaling slow when his hand sped up, hitching when he sucked on just the head. _He_ was the one doing that. _He_ was making Kent sound like that. Hesitantly, he slid his free hand over Kent’s bare hip, fingertips brushing his belly, and felt the muscles there clench, coarse hair tickling his palm; half-afraid that if he stopped, even for a second, Kent would somehow slip away and he’d wake up again, alone on the couch. Kent hadn’t looked that big, but he _felt_ huge, Sebastian's jaw already starting to ache. He pulled back, eyes watery, breathing deep; the noise their bodies made when he stroked Kent was obscene. All that slick, hard flesh in his hand, throbbing as he ran his thumb over the tip. His own dick was hard too, trapped against his thigh by his jeans, but he couldn’t touch himself, not yet. He wasn’t going to blow his load before he even got his pants off like some awkward teenager.

Kent didn’t give him any kind of direction, but Sebastian found he didn’t mind. It was almost like solving a puzzle, seeing what made Kent swallow audibly, breath hitching, or shift in place. Occasionally his hips twitched, like he wanted to thrust into Sebastian’s mouth or hand and was holding himself back, and at one point he groaned a little, deep in his chest; the sound went straight to Sebastian’s dick. He tightened his grip, hand working faster, and Kent’s breathing went heavy, mouth slack. When he leaned in again, his tongue barely made contact before Kent was pushing him away, swearing under his breath. He sat back on his heels, startled.

“’s fine,” Kent said, and when Sebastian looked up at him, he had his forearm slung over his eyes, face tilted to the ceiling. His nostrils flared. “Just gonna make me come if you keep that up.”

“I thought that was a good thing.” Sebastian kind of wanted to touch his dick again, but clearly Kent needed a minute, so he settled for running a hand along his inner thigh instead, wishing the pajama pants weren’t in the way. “Unless I’ve been doing it wrong, I guess.”

Kent huffed out a laugh, the tension easing; not much, but the moment didn’t feel as fraught. "Not ready yet," he said. His hand rose, hovering for a moment before it cupped the back of Sebastian’s neck. Only his thumb moved, stroking the hollow just behind Sebastian’s ear. The motion sent little jolts of pleasure skittering down his spine. He leaned into it, eyes closed, and shuddered as rough fingers trailed across the nape of his neck.

“Take your clothes off,” Kent said.

Normally he hated this part, but it was dark and nothing mattered except the thought of skin-to-skin contact at that moment. He yanked his shirt over his head and fumbled with his belt while Kent shoved his pajama pants down to his ankles, and then they were both naked and those big, rough hands were on him again, pulling him down onto the couch to straddle Kent’s lap. It wasn’t a perfect fit at first, and his legs ended up spread wider than was comfortable, but before he could think about it too much, Kent spit in his hand and wrapped it around both of them at once, grip warm and slippery.

It took a minute, but they eventually found a rhythm, and Sebastian braced himself against Kent’s shoulders as pleasure washed over him, hips working helplessly. It felt like he was going to drown in it, lost in sensation. Kent’s breath was hot on his cheek and neck, forehead pressed to Sebastian’s; his free hand splayed across his lower back, keeping him steady while they rubbed up against one another, fucking into the hollow of his fist. _Slow down,_ Sebastian wanted to say, _I don’t want you to see me come this fast,_ but when he opened his mouth the only thing that came out was a shaky moan. Kent grunted a little at that, eyes closing, and the hand on Sebastian’s back slid down to his ass, squeezing it roughly. It startled another moan out of him. He barely recognized the sound of his own voice.

Kent’s grip firmed, hand moving in short pulls. His breathing was harsh, forehead beading with sweat, and his broad shoulders flexed beneath Sebastian’s forearms, unyielding. Almost without meaning to, Sebastian slid a hand into Kent’s hair, curling thick and coarse between his fingers. Kent didn’t stop, but the pace faltered, his eyes drifting open. His skull cradled by Sebastian’s palm, his gaze unfocused, he looked oddly vulnerable, rumpled at the edges; a groan caught in his throat when Sebastian ducked down to kiss him. They were grinding against each other now, edging towards frantic, and then Kent was sucking on his tongue and Sebastian came all over his hand before he even realized it was happening, head spinning.

Afterwards, while they cleaned themselves off, Sebastian kept sneaking glances over at Kent, somewhere between giddy and mortified. There was no going back now. He knew what it felt like to kiss Kent, stubble prickling his lips and chin; knew what he looked like naked, what he sounded like when he came, and Kent knew all of that about him, too. Even if it never happened again, he'd have the memories. He wasn’t sure he _could_ forget. He pulled his shirt back on, snuck another look. Kent sat hunched over, staring down at his hands. His face was utterly blank. It made something in Sebastian’s gut twist. Maybe it had been a bad idea, but he didn’t want Kent to regret it. A selfish, unhelpful thought, but there it was nonetheless. He pushed it aside.

He should say something. Part of him wanted to bolt out the front door. The other part, even more selfishly, just wanted to be held. Neither of those things seemed like viable options, though, so he cleared his throat.

“Hey.”

Kent glanced up.

“Do… do you want me to go?”

He was a little afraid of the answer, he realized in the space right after he asked it. But Kent just shook his head roughly, shoulders slumping.

“No.” It came out as an exhale. “Not even morning yet, I’m not going to kick—no.”

“Okay,” Sebastian said, and hoped he didn’t sound as relieved as he felt.

One of Kent’s big hands engulfed his knee. Not squeezing, just resting there, unwavering. His hopeless, traitorous heart stuttered in response, pounding in his throat.

“Stay,” Kent said, voice low. “Just… stay.”

The _for now_ went unspoken. Sebastian tried to ignore that, too.

“Okay,” he said again, “okay, yeah,” and let himself be pulled in.

*****

Sebastian’s mom picked up her shipments on Thursdays, while Demetrius was working and Maru was at the clinic. Normally she was gone by the time Sebastian got up, but when he stumbled into the kitchen on that particular afternoon, half-asleep and groping for the coffee-maker, she was waiting for him at the table, eating sliced peaches and goat cheese for lunch while she did the daily crossword.

“Come with me to the lumberyard?” She flashed him a smile, erasing whatever she’d just written in. “I’m feeling like company today.”

He’d been tempted to tell her no—she was only asking him because Maru and Demetrius were both busy—but she’d seemed in such a good mood that he couldn’t find it in himself to ruin it, and that was how he’d wound up in the passenger seat of the pick-up truck, windows down and radio crackling as they breezed up the highway. The lumberyard was an hour and a half north, in Grampleton. Sebastian had been dreading the drive as soon as he strapped on his seatbelt, but for once, his mom didn’t seem interested in playing twenty questions. Instead, she hummed along to the old country station, fingers drumming against the wheel while the wind tugged at her ponytail, and after a while, he relaxed too, feeling vaguely guilty. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, or even like spending time with her. She just had this way of making him feel twelve all over again, no matter how old he got.

“Thanks,” she said suddenly, snapping him back to the present. He blinked.

“What?”

“For coming along.” She grinned, brushed some flyaway hairs from her face. “It’s a pain to get everything loaded up by myself sometimes.”

Sebastian smiled awkwardly.

“How’s work?”

Another curveball. He blinked again. “Uh… alright.” He couldn’t remember the last time she’d asked about his freelancing. Her or the rest of the family. Kent did sometimes—he seemed genuinely impressed upon finding out Sebastian wrote code—but Sebastian usually changed the subject when it came up, figuring he was probably just being polite. “I got a couple new clients recently, so… yeah. Pretty good I guess.”

It was better than good. One of them was the Zuzu City Public Library, looking for a new internal search engine to replace their outdated infrastructure; they’d hinted that they might be repeat clients if they liked his work, and while it wasn’t the highest-paying gig he’d ever had, it was definitely one of the more interesting ones. Something he could put on his resume. He hadn’t told anyone, not even Kent or Abigail. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because living in Pelican Town felt like being under one of the microscopes in Demetrius’s lab sometimes, and you had to fight to keep things to yourself. You took your secrets where you could get them. 

“Glad to hear it.” She reached over and patted his knee. “I’m proud of you, Sebby. I hope you know that.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Sebastian muttered, and slid down in the seat as she laughed, face hot. They still had an hour to go.

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the lumberyard, and by the time they got the truck loaded up and cargo secured, the sun was starting to sink towards the horizon, smudging the sky orange and gold. Gravel crunched under the tires as they drove up the path, back the way they’d come, and Sebastian stuck his head out the window while his mom fiddled with the radio dial, the breeze ruffling his hair. The twang of a banjo echoed from the speakers.

“Can you please put on something other than country for the drive back?”

“I like this song!” she protested, turning onto the main road. “It’s a classic.”

“It sounds like every other song we listened to on the drive up here.”

“And I’m driving, so I get to pick the music. You know the rules.”

“So let me drive.”

“Not a chance,” his mom said cheerfully, and cranked the volume up.

Eventually he talked her into putting on the alt-rock station they sometimes got from Zuzu when reception was especially good, and the drive lapsed into a comfortable silence, accompanied by the spacey, atmospheric guitar of Midnight-83’s latest single. Of course, it couldn’t last—in Sebastian’s experience, comfortable silence was almost always broken by uncomfortable questions, and he could sense his mom gearing up for something the minute she turned the volume back down.

“Are you going by Kent’s again this week?”

Sebastian’s stomach did an awful swoop, like the bottom of the truck had dropped out from under him.

“Maybe. Why?”

Too late, he realized how defensive it sounded. He bit his tongue so hard it hurt.

“Just thinking I’d ask you to get one or two of my casserole pans back,” she said, still smiling, but there was a forced lightness to it now, straining at the corner of her mouth. A beat passed. “How’s he doing?”

“I don’t know.” It felt like the first honest thing he’d said all day. “Better, sometimes. Other times, not so much. He’s got this councilor up in Zuzu, but it’s hard to get into the clinic most days since they’re really understaffed, so…” He forced himself to shrug. To sound casual. “I don’t think he sees her as much as he wants to.”

“Right,” his mom said, nodding along. Heavy nods, weighed down with resignation. He remembered, too late again, that her best friend had left town too. “Poor man. Even before the war, he had his demons, but with everything that happened over there…” The everything in question filled the space between them, looming silently. Neither of them made a move to name it. “He hasn’t had any easy go of it.”

“No,” Sebastian agreed, fidgeting. The cabin of the truck was starting to feel smaller and smaller with each passing word.

Her voice was unbearably gentle. “It’s wonderful, how you’ve been there for him, but…”

“But what?”

“I…” She sighed. “I just worry about you too, honey. You’re over there all the time, and I know you want to help, we all do, but Kent’s burdens are his to manage.”

“Mom—”

“You can’t shoulder his and yours,” she said, eyes trained on the road. No drumming on the wheel this time; her grip was white-knuckled, anxious. “I just want to make sure you remember that. I know what it’s like, to want to take on all of someone’s problems so you don’t feel helpless, but you have to make sure you’re not losing yourself in the process.”

A dozen replies crowded Sebastian’s throat, clogging it so tight not a single one could escape. There it was again, the persistent, prickling embarrassment of knowing that she still saw him as a child, and he couldn’t be trusted to know what he was doing. They were there for each other, both re-learning to make sense of things after being left behind; was it so wrong, to like that Kent could lean on him? To know that he was enough for someone?

“I’m not,” he finally croaked.

Still, with that same unbearable gentleness: “I know it hurt when Sam left—”

“ _Don’t._ ”

The word was so sharp it almost hurt to say. He’d never spoken to his mother like that before, and for an awful moment, he thought her temper might surface, the way her jaw clenched. But then she took a deep breath, spots of color still high on her cheeks, and reached over to turn the radio back up. Neither of them said anything else for the rest of the drive. By the time they reached the Valley limits, turning onto the winding mountain road that led back to the house, guilt had started to trickle in to mingle with his anger, turning it to shame. Jodi had left too, after all. She was only trying to help. Still, it took him until she parked in the driveway and slid the keys from the ignition to gather up the words.

“I’m sorry,” he said, staring down at his hands. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“Darn right,” she agreed, but he could tell she was already softening—quick as she was to anger, she was even quicker to extinguish the flames.

“His entire family left.” He straightened up, making sure to catch her eye this time. “I’m just trying to help out. Okay? I promise you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Alright.” Skepticism lingered at the corners of her mouth, but she was mollified now, reaching to unbuckle her seatbelt. He did the same, but couldn’t escape the car before she reached out and squeezed his shoulder, hand lingering. “Just know that if anything does change, or even if it doesn’t, you can always talk to me. You know that, right?”

“I know.” The words felt meaningless, but he said them anyway. “C’mon, let’s get this stuff unloaded.”

“Oh, we’re going to need your sister for this. Demetrius, too. Marnie wants a whole new barn built and I had to double my usual shipment…”

The door to the truck slammed, dirt and gravel crunching under his mom’s boots as she continued talking. Sebastian slouched around to the other side of the truck, tuning her out as he reached for his cigarettes. As soon as they were done, he was going into town.

*****

The days Kent had counseling were a toss-up—he never knew how it was going to affect him, during or after, and neither did Sebastian until he’d get the text. If it was a good day, it was _yes_ ; bad days were a _no._ It was the only thing Kent ever used his ancient flip phone for. Sometimes he came over on the bad days anyway, if they were especially bad. He’d told Kent that he’d leave if he really wanted to be alone, and all he had to do was say so. Kent nodded, and that was that. He’d only asked Sebastian to leave once.

 _Yes,_ the text said today, and so he made his way into town later in the afternoon, stopping first to have a drink with Abigail and play a couple rounds of Wizard Pinball. She was busy these days, between her graphic design classes and her part-time weekend job in Zuzu, and so it was natural they spent less time together than they used to. He was relieved, and then guilty about feeling relieved, and bought both of her beers to make up for it. The sky was fading to purple by the time he left the saloon, the first stars appearing, and the heat of the day had begun to fade as well, swept away by the evening air rolling in from the sea. He let himself in with the key under the mat, humming, and found Kent in the kitchen, standing over a pot on the stove and smoking a cigarette. The window was open, the radio sitting on the sill playing something Sebastian didn’t recognize, mellow surf-rock.

“What are you making?” He came up carefully behind Kent, making sure he could see him before he tucked an arm around his waist. He still got a weird thrill at being allowed to do this with Kent, these moments of casual, easy affection—he’d never thought of himself as an affectionate person, but when it was like this, just the two of them, he found it came more naturally than he’d been expecting. Kent exhaled through his nose, smoke mingling with the steam.

“Rice. Thought I ought to start cooking my own dinners again.” He smiled a little, and Sebastian was reminded, suddenly, startlingly, that he was handsome—not that he’d ever stopped thinking that, but there was something boyish about the smile that softened his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. He’d been smiling more on the good days lately. Those were the days Sebastian held onto selfishly, when things were lighter and Kent seemed happy, or something close to it. 

“Good timing,” he said, and turned his head to kiss Kent’s bare shoulder. “I think my mom’s starting to run out of recipes.”

Kent chuckled and kept stirring the pot with his free hand, the cigarette smoking in the other. “Can’t say I don’t appreciate the efforts, but I think I’m done with casserole for a while.” He took another drag, then exhaled again, left the cigarette dangling from his lip. “There’s enough for two, but don’t expect miracles if you try some.”

“It can’t be that bad. You used to cook all the time.” Jodi had been the chef in the family, but Kent cooked plenty when Sebastian was younger; he’d made pancakes for breakfast whenever his kids’ friends spent the night, and spent plenty of long, hazy summer days grilling in the backyard. He felt Kent shrug, arm moving against his side.

“It’s been a while.”

Sebastian put out his hand, and Kent passed him the cigarette. It was half-gone, and the end flared bright red as he took a drag, blowing the smoke towards the open window. The butt was warm from Kent’s fingers, Kent’s lips. He took his time before handing it back, and the way Kent’s eyes lingered on his mouth made him want to say fuck it and press Kent up against the counter. _Later._ He took another pull and handed the rest of the cigarette back, their fingers brushing.

“It’ll be great.”

The rice turned out a little overcooked, but edible, and there were fried onions and peppers to go with it, spicy enough to make his nose run. They sat on the couch while they ate, washing it down with beer while _Blue Planet_ played on the TV; Kent had taken to nature documentaries recently, and unlike Demetrius, he didn’t talk over half of the narration to share various “interesting” scientific facts about the soil in the rainforest or dung beetle mating habits or whatever. Sebastian went to gather the bowls and cans when they were done, but Kent stopped him with a shake of his head.

“I’ll get it.”

“It’s fine, I need to get another drink anyway.” He reached for them again, only to flinch when Kent grabbed his wrist—not hard, but without warning.

“Leave it!”

His expression changed as soon as Sebastian’s did, and for a moment they just stared at each other, whale sharks swimming on the screen in the background as the air conditioner whirred in the window. Kent let go, dragging both hands down his face.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was thick with frustration, and shame. “Shouldn’t have snapped at you. Just… let me handle the dishes. Please.”

“Okay,” Sebastian said warily, and sat back to let him handle the clean-up. As soon as the sink started running, he got up and went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and take a few deep breaths, then headed for the kitchen. Kent was drying their bowls, posture ramrod-stiff. Sebastian helped himself to a sparkling water—Kent didn’t like it, but he usually had some on hand, ever since he found out that Sebastian did, and he needed to not think about that right now—and leaned against the counter beside the fridge, popping the tab.

“So,” he said. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

Kent didn’t answer for a long moment, scrubbing at the bowls even though they had to be bone-dry by now. “I don’t want you feeling like you need to do these things for me,” he said finally.

“What things? The dishes? You cooked, so I thought—”

“It’s not just about the dishes,” Kent interrupted, voice sharp. “It’s everything.” He swallowed, lips pressed in a thin line, the muscle in his jaw working like it always did when he had something to say and wasn’t looking forward to saying it. “I used to be someone people could lean on.”

( _Do you know,_ he’d said once, on an especially bad day, slumped in his armchair with cracked-lightbulb eyes. _Do you know how humiliating it is to need this much help, and not know how to accept it?_ )

“We want to help you,” Sebastian said. “ _I_ want to help you,” but Kent was already shaking his head.

“There’s a difference between wanting and needing,” he said. “It’s my fault that it got all mixed up, got you thinking you want to help me when you actually feel like you need to, and I don’t—”

“Bullshit,” Sebastian said.

“Sebastian—”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” he said again, louder this time. “You were having a good day when I got here. You were happy, even. So unless you want to tell me what’s really going on—”

“That’s the problem! I _was_ happy!”

Sebastian stared, baffled. Kent started pacing in front of the sink, dishcloth clenched in one strangling fist. Frustration crackled around him like radio static. “I should feel guilty,” he said. “My wife left me and took both my sons with her, and I can’t even blame her for it. They left because of me. Can’t find work, can’t sleep most nights, can barely even take a walk through a fucking field some days and half the town thinks I’m going to off myself at a moment’s notice… I should feel guilty as hell right now, but I don’t, and that’s the problem.”

“Guilty?” He knew better than to try reaching out, Kent didn’t react well to being touched in this state, but Sebastian’s feet ached with how badly he wanted to go to him. “Kent, nothing that happened to you over there was your fault.”

“My marriage crumbling, my family leaving? That was my fault. I could have tried to get help sooner, I could have done more, but I didn’t. I just… didn’t.” Kent stopped pacing, hovering in front of the sink again. He wouldn’t make eye contact. “And whenever I’m with you, none of that hurts as much as it should.”

The kitchen was too small for words like that; they filled up the room, stole the breath from his lungs and left his heart beating just a little too fast. Sebastian leaned back against the counter, sparkling water still clutched in hand. Condensation trickled over his fingers.

“Sorry,” he said. “Are you saying I make you too happy?”

“You’re wasting time on me.” Kent pinched the bridge of his nose, the furrows in his brow deepening. “You should find someone you can tell your parents about, at least.”

They’d had this conversation before, or variants of it; the last time had been the night they’d almost broken it off for good, the one time he’d ever been told to go.

 _You deserve someone you can have a future with,_ Kent had told him, bloodshot and stubbled.

 _I don’t care about the future,_ he’d argued, nails digging into his palms. _I care about right_ _now._

He knew, realistically, whatever they were doing had an expiration date. Nothing stayed secret forever, especially not in a place as insular as Pelican Town. What he hadn’t understood was why Kent kept trying to move that date up.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked instead. “To feel like you deserve to be miserable forever?”

“You know the kinds of things people would say, if they found out?”

“I’ve given it some thought, yeah.” Sebastian set his water aside. “You didn’t answer my question.”

The grooves in Kent’s forehead deepened, the muscle twitching in his jaw again. He turned away. Sebastian took a step forward, then another. Giving Kent time to tell him to back off. But he didn’t, and the muscles in his back twitched when Sebastian touched it, palm flat, fingers splayed between his shoulder blades.

“You have it rough enough right now, y’know,” he said. “You don’t need to beat yourself up for not feeling bad all the time on top of everything else.”

A tremor ran through Kent, almost imperceptible. Gingerly, Sebastian moved his hand up, fingertips stroking the fine, shorn hairs at the nape of his neck.

“That night we went out on my bike, after I first fixed it,” he said, and cleared his throat, ears burning. He was never any good at this kind of thing, but just then, it felt like he needed to try. “That was the first time I ever took anyone with me. And I remember, on the way back, how there was nobody else on the road. It was so clear you could see the stars for miles, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it felt to be that happy, in this situation, after being miserable for so long.” He broke off, chewing on his lip while he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not trying to make this all about me or anything, but I haven’t been doing great the last year. I’m still not. But… I am happy, when I’m with you. And I think you are with me, too, and that has to count for something.” His hand remained where it was, tentative. Hopeful. “Right?”

His fingers slipped away as Kent straightened up, and for a brief, devastating second, Sebastian’s heart plummeted into his shoes. Only a second, and then Kent turned to face him, arms limp at his sides. Still conflicted, still afraid, but there was something different about the way he held himself, about the light in his eyes; torn, but bright. It almost looked like hope.

“It can’t last,” he said.

“I know.” Kent took a step forward, so close now their bodies nearly touched. His hand was hot and a little sweaty where it touched Sebastian’s cheek. He leaned into it anyway. “Statistically speaking, nothing lasts forever."

“You’re sure,” Kent said quietly, leaning down. “You’re sure that’s what you want? Someone who doesn't know how to be happy?"

Sebastian met him halfway, angling his face up. It was a slow, bittersweet press of lips that mellowed as it went on and ended up with Kent’s arms around him, his big, solid body a momentary shield from time and the rest of the world.

"We'll work on it," he said.

Even if he didn’t have forever, he could have this. _They_ could have this. Moment to moment, day to day. This time it was Kent who started it, and he let himself melt into the embrace, hooking an arm around Kent’s neck and deepening the kiss. Out in the living room, David Attenborough was talking about the kelp forests.


End file.
